Bell tower, Bookshelf, & Candle
by Imogen74
Summary: In which Molly helps an ailing Holmes. Mycroft.
1. Chapter 1

Mycroft Holmes loved to read. He didn't let on that he loved to read to many, but the few that knew him well understood that about him. Molly Hooper was one of those people. After the Fall, in which Sherlock Holmes faked his suicide & Molly aided him in doing it, Molly began to feel sorry for the elder Holmes brother. John Watson said it was a silly thought. He didn't need pity. He needed to be slapped. It was his fault, after all. Despite the doctor's insistence that her good heart was clouding her sharp mind, Molly continued to spend time with Mycroft. Nothing romantic, hardly friends, but time. Time, which until Molly had entered his life, Mycroft very much took for granted. The young pathologist was teaching him to be patient of others. To be a touch more open minded. To be, truth known, sentimental.  
Now, since Molly was the only one alive that knew that Sherlock was, well, alive, it was proving quite a challenge not to spill the beans & let the obviously hurting Mycroft in on the secret. Her good heart was soon going to outweigh her loyalty to the not-so-dead-Holmes, & since she hadn't heard anything from him in a few months, she was verging on desperate to relieve Mycroft. He hurt, badly. He was wounded, & only Molly could see it. And what bothered her most, was that she was the one that held the key to his emotional reprieve.  
Molly was of such a kind sort that the fact that she could help another but couldn't was tearing her to pieces.  
Dilemma of the most troublesome kind.

So what would happen if Sherlock returned? He would, eventually. Molly played the scene in her mind:  
"But he was so upset, Sherlock."  
"You betrayed my trust. My loyalty. I cannot believe it, Molly Hooper. I thought that we were friends...I believed that you cared about me."  
"But I do! You know I do...but Mycroft...he was so..."  
"Don't hand me that. Mycroft Holmes? Upset? You don't know him. Not the way I do."  
"A touch better, I think."  
And with that, he'd leave, & Molly would be alone again in her flat. And the image was so real, it was nearly burned in her eyelids. Sherlock angry & upset with her. Dammit. What was she supposed to do? Wait forever?


	2. Chapter 2

They were sitting in a cafe, reading. Well. Mycroft was reading. Molly was fidgeting. She was playing with the idea of telling him Sherlock was alive. The cafe wasn't terribly crowded, she thought that should he be really upset & shout or something, there wouldn't be much of an audience.  
She decided against it. A few more weeks, perhaps, Sherlock would return before she would need to say anything.  
"How's John?" He finally said.  
"John? He's fine, I suppose. Haven't seen him in a few days. He has a girlfriend, you know."  
"Of course I know. I cannot imagine what drives one to such behavior. Dating. Preposterous."  
Molly smirked a tad. Brothers, indeed. "Well, Mycroft. Some people enjoy the intimate company of another person. That's usually what drives people to date."  
"I assume by intimate, you mean sex. What a trifle. How pedestrian. But then, I suppose you are often engaged in such banal activity."  
Molly blushed. "No...er...not really, no. I mean, I have had...but I...not for some time now."  
"Pity Sherlock never took you up. I'm certain he would've enjoyed it."  
Preposterous was an understatement. This conversation was eerie & weird. Molly thought that they should change the subject immediately.  
"So, Mycroft. Got plans for the weekend, then?" Molly was smiling widely.  
"It's Tuesday, Molly. And you know quite well I seldom make "plans" as you would. My commitments are always too pressing to do such."  
"Well, we need to change that. How about you & I take a drive to the country Saturday? I have this weekend off," she noted his eyebrow raised. "You can bring your mobile. You'll be reachable."  
Mycroft was skeptical. He never left London for leisurely activity. Actually, he never took leisure time. It might be a pleasant distraction for once.  
"Yes. That sounds rather pleasant. I suppose, just this once..."  
"Wonderful! I need to get going, though. Work is waiting. I'll see you Saturday."  
Mycroft stood as she did, always painfully old fashioned & polite in the extreme.  
He reflected briefly on what had just transpired, when his mobile rang out a text. He loathed texts. Russia again. How tiresome.


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft had insisted that Molly drive. He needed to be able to reach his phone, & he hadn't driven himself in years. They headed west to Cornwall, as Molly hadn't been there since she was little, & longed to see the beauty of the place once more.  
They got out of the car four hours later for lunch. They had reached their destination in record time.  
"It's lovely country here. I'm sorry I haven't seen it before."  
"You haven't? I thought that, you know, since you practically run England, you would've seen it all." Molly was rather shocked.  
"I know London as well as any person you'll ever meet. The rest...well, as I told you. I don't get to leave much." He shuffled his feet a bit, hands in pockets.  
Molly felt bad for him, again. He lived a sad life. She began to believe that Mycroft was even more misunderstood than Sherlock.  
Lunch was a quiet affair. Molly was sitting, staring out of the window. Mycroft was reading the Times sipping coffee.  
"Should we take a walk about? We have another hour or so..." Molly was anxious to see the ocean, & she didn't wish to get home too late.  
"Of course, whatever you like," Mycroft could be quite obliging when he thought about it.  
They strolled along towards some rocks that were jetting out along the shoreline.  
"It is so very lovely. When I was a girl, my dad took me here. He said it was the most beautiful place in England...which meant the world, since he'd never travelled outside the country." She smiled sweetly to herself.  
"Yes...quite," he didn't know exactly what to say to the anecdote. Mycroft never got on with his father, & mum always favored Sherlock. Everyone did. Even Mycroft. He loved his brother, though he was loathe to admit it. "Well, shall we be off, then? I should really get back. Much to attend to."  
Molly thought that, yes, they should get back. She nodded her response, & as she turned, her door slipped on the wet rock. She stumbled, & Mycroft grabbed her arm to prevent her fall.  
"Oh my goodness...thanks Mycroft. I am sometimes quite clumsy..." Her breath was heavy.  
"Not at all, Molly," and he let go. Strange, feeling the need to prevent her fall. She wouldn't have fallen to the sea, probably just a turned ankle, but he hated the idea of seeing her hurt, so he decided to stop it.

He entered his flat not far from Downing Street. He sighed, & turned the light on. There, in the far corner, sitting ever so serenely, was his little brother.  
Mycroft wasn't surprised. He wasn't angry. He was relieved, but he wouldn't display such an emotion.  
"Well, Sherlock. Alive, are we?"  
"Obviously."  
"And where have you been? I had planned for this, but I expect you managed to outwit my spies."  
"Another obvious observation, if you can call it such. Your "spies" as you call them, are hardly a challenge. You should rethink your staff," he said, standing up.  
"Does John know?"  
"Know I'm alive? No. Not yet. You are going to tell him for me. I don't want the shock to be too much for him." He was gazing out of the window. "And since you've been spending so much time with Molly Hooper, you can tell her to let Mrs. Hudson know now."  
"Does Molly know, too, then? You have odd choices for your secret keepers," he veiled his disappointment well.  
"Yes. Molly knows. Why have been to Cornwall with her?"  
"Where have you been, brother? Answer my question first."  
"Abroad. Cornwall?"  
"A leisurely road trip. Molly desired to see it again. I obliged." He looked at Sherlock at that.  
Sherlock peered at his brother. He was ascertaining just how much time he had spent with the pathologist. Quite a bit. He wasn't sure what he thought about it just yet.  
"Alright," Sherlock began. "I'm staying here tonight. Tomorrow, you will visit Molly & John. Tell them I'm back. I'll take it from there."  
"Very well, Sherlock. It's...good to see you."  
Mycroft turned & went into the kitchen to make tea. He had noted the paleness of his brother, the weight loss. He had hoped that Sherlock might confide in him, but he knew that that was unlikely. Tomorrow, he would do as he had asked him, & his life would go back to the way it was before he left. Good. He was pleased. He was sure he was pleased. He desperately wished to be pleased, but his mind was telling him otherwise.


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft entered the morgue. He decided he might as well get this over with. Perhaps Molly might accompany him to Baker Street so that when John punched him, Molly would be there to calm the doctor.  
"Good afternoon, Dr. Hooper," Mycroft said solemnly.  
"Hi Mycroft. Didn't expect to see you today."  
"No, no I don't imagine that you did. I had a visitor last evening after our outing."  
"Oh?"  
"Yes. Sherlock has returned from his trip to the netherworld." He thought it was funny. Molly, not so much.  
"He what? He's back? Oh. Oh my...Mycroft...I'm so...so sorry...he told you, I'm sure. That I...knew?"  
"Yes of course. Don't trouble yourself, Molly. It's quite alright." He smiled at her.  
"Yes. Well...I..." and she hugged him. "I'm very sorry. I wanted to tell you, you know."  
Mycroft was uncomfortable. Very. He wasn't certain how to respond to her affection.  
"I've arranged for you to have the rest of the day off," he said, pulling away.  
"Off?"  
"Yes. I had hoped you'd accompany me to Baker Street. I'm to tell John & Mrs. Hudson. Tiresome chore Sherlock is having me do so he can avoid any nastiness that might ensue. Punishing me for Moriarty." He shrugged. "That is...if you're agreeable..."  
"Oh. Well, yes. I guess I can. You arranged it, you say?"  
He nodded affirmation.  
"Right. Let me go change. I'll be right back."

John was furious. Mrs. Hudson was confused. Mycroft wanted to leave, but Molly had indicated that that was not the way in which to handle this mess. "When is going to make his appearance?" She asked him while she boiled the kettle & he rummaged through the cabinets looking for a biscuit tin.  
"No idea. You know Sherlock. So dramatic. Theatrical. Here...these were all I could find," & he handed her a rather ratty looking tin.  
Molly brought the things to the sitting room when her phone rang out a text.  
"Downstairs. Coming up now. SH"  
"Oh god." She looked at John. At Mrs. Hudson. Finally, at Mycroft, & nodded.  
The group heard someone ascending the stairs. A moment later, Sherlock Holmes entered his flat.  
"Well. All here, I see." He smiled.  
"You. Stupid. Git." John walked over to him. Punched him hard. Hugged him even harder.  
"Oh, Sherlock. What did you mean by it? I was beside myself. I just...I'm too old for you to carry on like this..." and Mrs. Hudson hugged him.  
Molly went over to him, a few tears in her eyes. "It's really good to see you." She wasn't certain what to do...she longed to hug him, too. "Oh, hang it!" she cried, & hugged the bastard.  
Mycroft was watching. He watched as Sherlock wrapped his arms around Dr Hooper. Watched as Molly wiped the tears from her face. Watched as they all laughed together. He felt out of place, & longed to leave.  
"Well, Sherlock. I believe I'm finished here," he was staging his exit.  
"Yes. Thanks Mycroft. I'll be in touch." Sherlock shook his brother's hand.  
"What's this? Mycroft! Hug your brother!" Molly was shocked. She pushed the two together, & they shared a very brief hug.  
"Ah-hem...yes...well...good afternoon, all. I need to be off," Mycroft was now desperately trying to exit.  
He was a bit more quick than usual when he took his leave. He hailed a cab. He sat there, in the cab, rubbing his face with his hands. What was upsetting him? Ridiculous. Silly for him to be upset about anything. He looked outside the window. It had begun to rain.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock was pleased. He was home. He was safe, as was his family. Yes, they were his family, John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade. And Molly, as good as family. He could hardly wait for a new case to present itself, though he doubted it would be soon. People would need to know of his return. Lestrade would need to set things right at the Yard. Soon, with a bit of help from his brother, all would be as it had been.  
He had been up all night thinking about it, & John came from upstairs yawning when he realized the time.  
"Morning Sherlock. Did you sleep at all?"  
"No. Just pleased to be here. I suppose I wished to relish it."  
"Right. I'll make the coffee."  
Sherlock went to retrieve his violin. How he longed to play it!  
"We need to talk. You should put that away."  
"Why? I don't need to talk. I know exactly what you're going to say, & now is not the time I wish to indulge your curiosity," he said, not putting down the violin.  
"Nope. Time to talk. Where the bloody hell have you been? Months & months you've been gone. You put us all through hell & back, & you're damn well going to answer some questions. How did you fake your death? Where did you go? Why did you involve poor Molly? Fess up, Holmes." His diatribe finished, he peered at his friend.  
Sherlock did answer him, it took most of the morning. When John was satisfied, Sherlock had a question or two.  
"What's going on with Mycroft?"  
"I dunno. What do you mean, exactly? Same old Mycroft as I can tell."  
"No. There's something more...he's been hanging around Molly, yes?"  
"Yeah. Now that you mention it, I think so...oh god no. You don't think...Molly &...Mycroft? That's just...ew. Can't stomach that one."  
Sherlock laughed, "No. I don't think so. But there's something to it. Molly has a sweet enough disposition that anyone would find her comforting. I'm just shocked that Mycroft needed to be comforted."  
"Well," said John. "He was pretty broken up. Never saw its equal. He came here a few times to chat, & ended up playing your violin. Not for very long, but... "  
"He what? He played my violin?" Sherlock was shocked. Mycroft never played. He knew how, of course, but he considered it a distraction he couldn't afford. He was, in truth, the most disciplined person Sherlock had ever known.  
"Yeah. Just a few times. Maybe half an hour in all. Why? I thought he was rather good."  
"He's excellent. As good as I am. Perhaps a touch better," Sherlock eyed John & smirked. "Of course, mum always fancied my play. More passionate, you know. And I composed, something Mycroft never did," he added, to save face.  
"Mum? That's weird, Sherlock. Can't imagine you or Mycroft with a "mum.""  
"What are you on about? Of course we have a mother."  
"I know, but to use the word "mum," just creepy. What do you think is going on?"  
Sherlock thought a moment. "Mycroft Holmes is an interesting character. Any number of things could be going on, as you said. But I'd wager, he's developing a conscience."


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks Renaissancebooklover108. You'll see something of yours here!

Sherlock never paid visit to his brother. It was rather shocking, therefore, when he received a text telling him he'd be at his office that afternoon. Mycroft wondered what Sherlock meant by it, but only gave it a moments attention.  
He entered his brother's office with a look on his face that immediately made Mycroft put his back up.  
"Well, Sherlock. This is unexpected, though only marginally unwelcome. What do you mean by it?"  
"Oh, you know. The usual. I had been meditating on the state of your person while I was away. I thought I'd come & chat with you about it."  
Mycroft was suspicious. "Oh? What is it that you want to know? How much I wrung my hands? How often I lost sleep? What was going on with my diet?"  
"Did you miss me?" Sherlock didn't smile. It was a natural place to start.  
"You're my brother, Sherlock. What do you think?"  
Sherlock finally sat in the seat opposite Mycroft, studying his face. "You felt guilty."  
Mycroft shifted. "Yes. Yes, I suppose I did."  
"What did you mean by playing my violin?"  
"I hadn't picked up an instrument in years. It pained me to see it sit so idle."  
"You have your piano. Your musical tendencies, however rigid, certainly had an outlet available to them," he smirked at that.  
"What do you want, Sherlock? You are being tiresome," always busy, he only had a few moments spaced sporadically throughout the day for non-work-related things, & that time was usually spent sipping tea or coffee & reading the Times. Or, until recently, with Molly Hooper.  
"Were you turning to Molly for comfort?"  
At this, Mycroft stopped. "Are you suggesting that I ill-used her?"  
"No. No, I suppose if you were that upset, Molly would be an excellent choice for company."  
He looked away from Sherlock. "I suppose so, yes. She is a tender soul, Sherlock. She had a way of making me feel...better about things."  
"Quite. She is just as you said. How are you going to handle things now? Concerning Molly?"  
"Beg your pardon? What things?"  
Sherlock stood once more. "Well, are you going to come around anymore? Are you going to simply toss her aside? She'll be broken up, certainly. If you're not, you owe it to her to tell her so. If you are, then you owe it to me to be forthright." He smiled internally. Just like childhood. Ensnaring Mycroft was a game he dearly loved.  
"I don't know what you mean Sherlock. I know Molly is just fine. I have no intention, since you have returned, of seeking her company any longer. I'm certain that she will understand, & I dare say she expects it."  
"Your spies are pitiful. I know Molly Hooper & I know that she's attached. She considers you a friend, god knows why, & you damn well better fix it, Mycroft Holmes. The morgue will be lost to me if you don't."  
"You are pathetic, brother. Using her in such a plain manner. Vile, really. She knows how you use her, & still she allows it. She must be in love, poor girl," Mycroft was disgusted.  
Sherlock smiled. He had him, he would discover soon the nature of Mycroft's mood. If he was attached to Molly, or if the guilt at thinking he played a key role in his brother's suicide was what was driving him to such odd behavior.  
"That's neither here nor there. Go & talk to her this afternoon. Tell her your intentions. We then can move forward toward letting the public know of my return & reestablish my good name. You have quite a lot of work, Mycroft. Why do you sit there in such idle attitude? Best be on your way." Sherlock smiled & left.

How much he resented his brother at that moment Mycroft had a hard time ascertaining.  
He really couldn't be bothered with his silly assignments. But it's true, he felt horribly guilty about the whole Moriarty affair. He would likely do his brother's bidding for some time to come. He would need to rearrange things in his schedule. He sighed, & thought about Molly.  
What did he wish to do about this? He naturally assumed that he would simply stop spending time with her. He knew of her feelings for Sherlock, & truly, he didn't mind. He simply thought that now, she would have no desire to see any Holmes except Sherlock.  
This suited him fine. Or did it? He must admit, he enjoyed spending time with the pathologist. What harm could be done if they occasionally met for coffee? Surely no one could object to such an innocent occupation. Perhaps this visit was exactly what Mycroft needed. He'd see Molly's reaction to that suggestion, & act from there. He began dialing his PA, he'd need to clear an hour or so this afternoon & change the surveillance on Molly Hooper.


	7. Chapter 7

Molly was heading home after a long day. She was tired, her feet hurt, as did her shoulders. She was only 34, but she imagined she felt the way a person of 54 or 64 might feel. She walked, as per her tendency, despite the discomfort. She was just a few yards from her flat when she noticed the black car which could only mean one thing: Mycroft. Molly smiled to herself. She liked him much more than she ever believed she would at the outset of their friendship. He was sad, serene, very intelligent, proper, & despite whatever he said he was, teeming with emotion. He simply had no idea what to do with it. Mycroft loved Sherlock. It was what had initially endeared her so to him.  
She went up to the car smilingly, & knocked on the window. Mycroft opened the door to indicate she should get in, & moved over to allow her room.  
"Hi Mycroft!," she breathed. "What's going on?"  
He returned her smile. "Well, I was in the neighborhood. Thought I might treat you to some coffee."  
They entered their usual cafe & took the table by the window. The sun was still up, though dusk was gathering.  
"So...seen Sherlock? He hasn't been by the morgue, though he is only just back. I guess he hasn't got a case yet?"  
"I saw my brother only an hour ago. He is well enough, I suppose. His usual self. Death can only do so much...at least in terms of improvement."  
Molly snickered, "Oh, but you're pleased. I know you are! You missed him."  
"Yes. Well, yes. I did miss him, as you say. Molly, there is some design in my taking you to coffee. I wish to talk about something in particular."  
"Ok," she was a tad bit confused. Things were usually somewhat relaxed between them, but Mycroft seemed nervous.  
"Yes, well. I suppose, since Sherlock has returned from his untimely death, I suppose I was thinking..." He hesitated, & appeared to be thinking about something that was no way involved with his less than eloquent speech. "I was thinking, that you might not be keen on accompanying me to coffee any longer, wishing instead to spend time with my brother. However, I was hoping that this was not the case...that although these meetings might be less frequent, that they not desist. I have rather enjoyed your company, something I cannot normally boast, & was hoping that you would not be adverse to the notion of accompanying me on occasion." Thus concluded his speech, & he looked at Molly.  
"What makes you think that I wouldn't want to see you since Sherlock's returned?"  
"Well, given the nature of your regard, I simply assumed..."  
"Assumed? Never assume, Mycroft. I'm surprised I need to tell you that. Sherlock doesn't like me. He never will. Although it hurts, I understand & have long given up any hope of anything happening between us. I like you. I would like to see you, as you said, on occasion. Sherlock has absolutely nothing to say about it," she finished, looking triumphant. She had said what she had been thinking aloud for the first time. Sherlock didn't like her. And Molly was Ok with it.  
"I wouldn't be so certain, if I were you. But so be it. Lovely." Mycroft smiled, then the smile dropped, "You appear tired..."  
And though Molly did, for only the most brief of seconds, wonder what Mycroft meant by his suggestion that she not be certain, she answered his timely & genuine question concerning her day. They sat at the cafe, well over an hour, appearing much the way any friends would, sharing some stories, not even slightly out of the ordinary, which of course, they were.


	8. Chapter 8

Lestrade had called Molly ahead of Sherlock going to the morgue. He was in a state, & wanted to give her fair warning. Great. She had already had a pretty bad day, now she had to deal with a sour Sherlock?  
"Molly, I need use of the lab immediately, & don't give me any stories about how a tiresome doctor has this or that to do, for it pales in comparison to what needs doing here. I've already had too many obstacles put before me today, I'd rather be done with them."  
John smiled at Molly apologetically, "Sorry Molly. He's in a bit of a state."  
"So I see." She eyed the detective with a mixture of confusion & exhaustion.  
Sherlock brushed passed them both & went directly to the lab. He was there quite a while; John assisting, Molly fetching things, while working on her own stuff.  
Things were finally running smoothly. Sherlock's samples were proving just as he had surmised them to be. He glanced at Molly. "Have you seen my brother lately?"  
"No, not lately. Last week, I think."  
"No...he's been busy. Helping with my return & such."  
Molly smiled her answer.  
"Strange you should enjoy his company..."  
"Why? We are actually a lot alike. I think he's delightful."  
Sherlock frowned. Delightful wasn't something he'd ever say about his brother.  
"Yes, but now that he's better, you know, since I'm alive & well, you'll likely not be seeing him as much."  
"Oh, I dunno. Probably not as much, but I'd still like to see him. Why do you ask? Mycroft had hinted as well...hang on. Sherlock? Did you say something to him?"  
Sherlock's gaze fell. "Of course not! Just wondering...he is my brother."  
Molly rolled her eyes. She left the lab, Sherlock following her with his eyes. John took notice & walked over.  
"Are you jealous of Mycroft?"  
"Don't be absurd."  
"Nope. Think you're jealous. He's been nice to Molly, & she likes him, & you're jealous."  
"What do you mean "she likes him?" No one likes him. He's ridiculous."  
"Molly doesn't think so. She enjoys his company. Always was a bit nutty, that Molly. Guess she has a weakness for Holmes boys."  
"What are you on about, John? Weakness for Holmes boys? Are you suggesting that Molly has romantic designs on Mycroft?" He was astonished.  
"Dunno. Maybe. As weird as it sounds, maybe she does. Or maybe it's just friendship. Either way, it looks like she likes your brother more than she likes you, mate."  
This was unsupportable. Molly liking Mycroft in any capacity. Pity was one thing. She had officially taken it too far.

Mycroft received his brother's text & sighed. He wanted him at Baker Street. How very annoying. How long must he submit to his brother's whims & flights of fancy? When would his penance be through? He would go, of course. Irksome family obligations.  
He entered 221B slowly, twirling his umbrella. Mrs. Hudson was unusually pleasant when she had seen him. This must be serious.  
"Well, Mycroft. Have a seat." Sherlock was plucking his violin strings.  
"Where's John? Awfully quiet in here."  
"Date."  
"Ah, yes. Of course."  
"Jealous?"  
"Of?"  
"John."  
"Why on earth would I be jealous of John Watson?"  
"Because, perhaps, you envy his romantic prowess." Sherlock studied his reaction. Indiscernible.  
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I haven't any idea what you're speaking of. You'll need to be a touch less cryptic for those of us beneath your towering intellect."  
"Interesting you say "towering,"" & he got up from his station.  
"And why is that?"  
"I always fancied myself high in a tower, looking down on others as they scramble to make sense of the world around them, while I could see everything laid out plainly from my vantage point."  
"I had no idea you were such a poet, brother. And what am I? A cathedral to compliment your bell tower?"  
"No. You're a dusty bookshelf. Full of information, but idle & barely used."  
Mycroft laughed. "You are droll, Sherlock. What is your point?"  
"Molly."  
"Hooper? What of her?"  
"Leave her alone."  
Mycroft shifted his weight. "No."  
"No?"  
"No. Since we are employing analogies, might I say that Molly has been a very soft light in my otherwise rather dreary room. I don't wish to snuff it out, not even for you, Sherlock. Oh, you can wince all you like. And if you have designs on her, I suggest you get to it. It matters little if the two of you engage in any romantic...relations. I don't care. Molly holds no romantic interest for me. But I won't give up what little enjoyment I derive in life, & she holds a rather large bit of it. Good afternoon."  
And he left without waiting for Sherlock's reply.  
True, he didn't care if his brother liked Molly. His concern was only so far as it might distract her from spending what little time he had with him. He would ignore the very very slight pang he felt when he told himself these things. He could never involve himself in matters of the heart. He was even more against them than his brother. He cared for Molly too much to ever suggest anything as silly as romance between the two of them. Truth be known, he wouldn't even know how to go about it. And he also suspected it would hurt Sherlock. He couldn't do that again. He'd be his familial slave forever.


	9. Chapter 9

He was playing his violin vigorously. Harshly. Frantically. John walked in on him thus, & yelled at him to stop.  
Sherlock looked at him. "What?"  
"What the bloody hell are you doing to that poor instrument?"

The room was quite dusty. He smirked as he recalled his brother's words. "Dusty bookshelf." Well, here was the dust, proof positive that Sherlock was right once more. He walked over to his piano. He brushed the keys with his fingertips. He sat down to it, & played Beethoven. The sonata lasted 45 minutes. He spotted his violin. Not nearly the instrument that Sherlock possessed, but a good one nonetheless. He began to tune it. Dreadful state it was in. Ah, yes...he remembered the last time he played it. He had just finished a visit with mummy. She had chided him on the way in which he did his job. Where he lived. How he lived. He concluded his tuning, & played. What was it about his family that made him long to play music?  
Mycroft was not a happy person. He had pretty much accepted this as a cold fact. He would never enjoy the life most did, but he somehow thought Sherlock would, eventually. What pained him was that his brother would never see him as anything but a nuisance. He didn't see Mycroft the way Mycroft saw Sherlock. He resented the fact that Sherlock wished to take the only friendship he had had in decades away from him. The fact was, Sherlock viewed Mycroft as a threat. This amused him somewhat. He, a threat? If it was a romantic threat, that was even more absurd.  
What to do about this? He wanted to continue to spend time with Molly, but he also didn't wish to be summoned by his brother constantly for doing so. Perhaps he should stop. It would make things so much easier.

What neither Holmes considered was what Molly wanted. Molly Hooper, quite ignorant of all these goings-on, would never have believed herself capable of rendering these brothers so utterly helpless. Ignorant, indeed, of the battle raging in their respective minds. Ignorant of the ferocity of emotion being leveled in her direction. She had managed the impossible, twice. To ignite that which laid dormant in two men's minds: sentiment. Neither one knew exactly the nature of their feelings, for their experience on both sides was so limited that it was almost laughable. Something was happening to them both as a result of the sweet girl. And she sat, in her flat, petting her tabby cat & eating some pizza, completely oblivious to the ministrations being threaded concerning her. She only knew that Sherlock Holmes was fascinating, from his saunter to his coat, to his staggering intellect, & Mycroft Holmes was everything lovely & sweet. Oh, and a bit intimidating intellectually as well...


	10. Chapter 10

Luckily, Molly had John Watson as an ally.  
"What's going on, Sherlock?"  
"Nothing is going on."  
"Right. How about the truth?"  
Sherlock sighed. "Mycroft isn't going to stop seeing Molly."  
"And?"  
"And? Isn't that enough? She's choosing to spend her time with...Mycroft, of all people," he nearly choked on his words.  
"You need to stop this right now. Go & tell Molly what's going on. And before you do that, you need to figure out what the hell is going on with you. Is this sibling rivalry, or do you honestly care about her?"  
Sherlock looked at him. He knew that John was right. It was most unfair for him to be behaving in such a horrid manner. He was ashamed. He was embarrassed. He was wrong, & he hated that.  
He put his coat on & left the flat. He would go see Molly & apologize.

Molly was cleaning her instruments when she felt the hand on her shoulder & she screamed.  
"Sherlock! What are you doing?"  
"I'm sorry."  
"Ok. It's ok." She looked at him. "Er...what do you need?"  
"Just that. I'm sorry. I've been harboring some ill feelings (he grimaced) about your friendship with Mycroft. I'm sorry."  
"Ill feelings? You mean jealousy?"  
"Well, in a matter of speaking."  
Molly smiled. "And what has Mycroft to say on the matter?"  
"He refused to satisfy my pleas to leave you alone," Sherlock shuffled his feet & put his hands in his pockets.  
"Oh." She honestly didn't know what to say. "Well, I'm glad, I enjoy his company."  
"How much?"  
"Sorry, what?"  
"How much do you...enjoy his company?"  
He looked steadily at her. She wavered under his gaze. "I dunno, Sherlock. Why? It's not like I won't let you lose the lab simply because I have coffee with your brother."  
"I see."  
"You do? Because I have no idea."  
At that, he grabbed her arm & kissed her mouth. He pulled away & left the lab. Molly stood there, confused, overwhelmed, & angry.

His PA rang the phone. It seemed to be mocking him, since he was so useless today. He was distracted. He was uneasy. He hated himself for it.  
"A Molly Hooper is here to see you," rang out her voice in the otherwise still office.  
"Have her come in." Mycroft stood. He had been expecting this.  
Molly walked in & stomped right over to the desk where Mycroft Holmes stood opposite.  
"Explain to me why your brother is so jealous that he just came to my work, apologized to me & snogged me."  
"Excuse me?"  
"I think you heard me, Mycroft, Sherlock is jealous. Why?"  
"I'm sorry, Molly. I haven't the faintest. Perhaps he's concerned that he will require you to fetch & carry for him when you're sharing coffee with me."  
Molly smiled at this. "Have you given him any reason to be jealous?"  
"Not that I'm aware of. I certainly never intended to, as such."  
"You are fully aware of my feelings for him. Did you persuade him at all?" Molly was suspicious. Mycroft was a Holmes, after all.  
"No. Not even slightly."  
"Ok. Well. It seems that my dreams have been answered. Sherlock Holmes fancies me." She didn't sound nearly as jubilant as she would've thought.  
"It would appear so, yes."  
"You knew, didn't you?"  
"I suspected. Though he never admitted anything to me," Mycroft was looking out of the window. "You should go to him, Molly. Tell him you reciprocate his feelings."  
"Yes..." Molly smiled. "Thanks, Mycroft. I'm going to do just that." And she left.  
He was still smiling absently after she had gone. He knew how things would be. He knew that Sherlock would wish to posses all of her time. And that would be the end of that.

His heart ached a bit. He went home early to tend to his violin. He wished he possessed something that would quell the misery that welled inside of him. So foreign a state for a man of his age. He noted the silliness of it, & the ridiculous nature of so many people spending so much of their time thus. Feelings, indeed. Weakness, more like it. He would spend the night feeling the loss wholly, & in the morning, he would be a new man. He didn't need any pathologist to make him feel content, smiling eyes & a warm heart notwithstanding.


	11. Chapter 11

Mycroft Holmes poured himself out a scotch. He seldom drank, only every so often. But, he felt that if ever there was occasion to drink, now was it.  
He sat, slowly savoring the slight burn in his throat. It served as a pleasant balm to his mood.

Molly was on her way to see Sherlock. She was going to tell him that she still loved him, & was expecting him to return those feelings. She should have been elated. The man of her dreams liked her, & she was going to claim his long-sought-for affection. Why, then, was she reluctant? Did she doubt him? Herself? Yes. She doubted herself, & she knew why.

He got up to answer the door, if only because he never had visitors, & he was curious whom it could be. To say he was shocked when he opened it was a massive understatement.  
"Molly? To what do I owe this pleasure?"  
"Hi Mycroft. Can I come in?"  
"Of course." He stepped aside. "Can I offer you a drink? I'm having one." And he poured out another.  
"No. No, thanks. I don't drink. Well, not scotch, anyway."  
"Some wine? Tea?" He was trying to figure what she could be doing there, & was using the drink as an excuse. What she chose to drink might signify her purpose.  
"No...Mycroft, I'm confused. I'm here to have you help me out with my confusion. Sorry, that didn't make much sense. I'm..."  
"Before you continue, have you seen Sherlock?"  
"No."  
Ah. Well, that made things a touch more interesting. "May I ask why?"  
"Because, I..." she looked away. "How do you feel about things? About me?"  
He rocked back & forth on the balls of his feet. Now we get to it. The very thing he was desperate to avoid. "I like you very much, Molly. I thought you realized that."  
"Yes. Well, is that all?"  
"What else should there be?"  
Molly walked toward the window. She looked out. His flat was quite dark. A bit old fashioned, like Mycroft. She could brighten it up a touch. Everything was lovely, to be sure. Antiques adorned the place. Cherry wood was everywhere. It only wanted a softer feel.  
"I dunno. I was rather hoping you'd shed some light on it for me," and she opened the drapes. A tad dramatic, but she thought it clever & meaningful.  
"I really don't know Molly. You love Sherlock. You have, for quite a long time. We are friends, I believe. I hope that any declaration you might give him won't impede our established friendship," he finished the lie. He knew quite well it would.  
"No. But what if..." she moved toward him. "What if my feelings have changed?"  
"Changed?"  
"Yes. You know, you're much nicer than Sherlock. And what if he's only jealous? That's no way to start a relationship, especially if he has no idea why he's jealous."  
"Sherlock is never jealous. I dare say you know quite well why he's jealous." He took a step backward, & Molly ceased her movement.  
"Search your heart, Molly. Sherlock is exactly who you want. He's waiting for you. Best be on your way."  
He turned away from her. Molly stood there a moment.  
"Mycroft. Look at me." She was nervous. Her heart was pounding, & her hands shook. "I care very much for you. I don't want that to just go away. I'll miss you...& I suppose..." She went over to him & kissed him very softly. She hugged him. And he stood, quite rigid.  
"You're wrong. I cannot give you what you want. I'm not...that type of person. You cannot know what you are about. Think about what you're doing, Molly. And then, we will speak no longer of this." He went & sat down.  
Molly stood there, tears welling in her eyes. Thwarted, once more, by a Holmes. She wanted nothing to do with either of them. Hateful, hateful men.  
"Fine. Fine, Mycroft. Die alone then." And she left.


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks for reading! I'll get back to Sherlolly goodness now!

One week had passed since Molly had left his posh flat. Nor had he heard from Sherlock. He surmised that she had come to her senses & went to him. They were now enjoying the bliss of newfound love. Mycroft had disciplined himself not to care. And so, he didn't.  
He had left a voicemail message on his brothers phone the day previous, & wondered idly if he'd bother to cease copulation for long enough to return his call. He was at his flat smoking a cigarette. He seldom smoked - even less frequently than he drank - however, he had smoked three cigarettes in as many days, & began to wonder at it. He barely ate. He seldom slept. He now realized how Sherlock felt when on a case. Dreadful.  
His bell rang. Strange that he should have another visitor. Stranger still that it was his brother that entered when he answered.  
Sherlock strode in. "Where is Molly?"  
"I beg your pardon? Isn't she with you?"  
"Of course not. Why would I be here if she were, asking you where she was?"  
"Sherlock, I haven't the patience for your silly games. What are you talking about?"  
"No games Mycroft. And if you continue, I'll punch you."  
He went to the desk to ascertain Mycroft's mood. Depressed. Indulgent. Not at all himself.  
"Sherlock, why are you here?"  
"Because you have surveillance on Molly. Because you were the last to have seen her. Because she hasn't been to work in a week."  
"She what?"  
"Surely you heard me, brother. She's called out every day for a week. I was at Bart's today, & she always just leaves a voicemail. You need to check in on her."  
"Best you do it, Sherlock."  
"Why? You're the one in love with her."  
Mycroft didn't move. He stared blankly at his little brother. "Retract that."  
"I'll do nothing of the sort. Go see her. Now. She needs you. She loves you."  
"How can you tell? What do you know about it?"  
"A touch more than you do, apparently. Go to her & be done with it, it's disgusting how you're carrying on."  
Mycroft looked at his brother with affection. He moved toward him as if to embrace, but then thought better of it. He shook his hand.  
"She's angry. What will she say?"  
"If she's smart, she"ll slap you. However, she's likely to cry & some such nonsense. Go to it, Mycroft. You've already wasted enough precious time."  
Precious time, indeed.

He knocked on her door. No answer. A bit more loudly, & he heard her shuffle to answer. As she opened the door, he smiled. She slammed it in his face.  
"Molly. I'd like to talk."  
"Go away."  
He expected this.  
"Molly, there are ways in which I can make you talk..."  
She threw the door open. "You wouldn't dare," she breathed.  
"You underestimate me," & he entered.  
He had never been inside of her flat. "You require a maid service, Molly, I can offer some suggestions in that area."  
She was dumbfounded. "What do you want, Mycroft?"  
He cleared his throat. "I understand you've not been to work this week."  
"Sherlock was wrong. Your spies are quite good," she went into the kitchen.  
"Yes, well. I was wondering, why."  
"Why what?"  
"Why you haven't been to work. It's unlike you."  
"Why do you care, Mycroft? You made it perfectly clear that you wanted nothing to do with me."  
"Well...I don't recall saying that. As I remember, I told you to see Sherlock. That I hoped that we would continue to be friends." He was a touch smug.  
"Go away. I really don't want to have this conversation."  
"Yes, well, first I need to tell you the following. Sherlock had surmised...he had...deduced...that I...feel amorously toward you," he concluded.  
Molly was completely dumbfounded. "He told you that? What did you say?"  
"Not much, actually. I suppose the man is good to have around. On occasion."  
"Yes. I suppose so." She looked at him. "Well, do you?"  
"I do, yes. And I hope that...I haven't spoiled anything." He smiled.  
Molly blushed, "No. Not yet." And they embraced.

John Watson was quite pleased with Sherlock.  
"It's so...weird. Molly & Mycroft? But, at least you weren't too much of a prat & let him be happy for once. And Molly, I suppose."  
"Quite. It's preposterous in the extreme,. One can only hope they don't develop one of those strange names like, Mymolly. Or Molcroft or something."  
John laughed. He agreed. That would be tiresome.


End file.
